Ever wanted to see a salt shaker transform into a windmill and then a helicopter? Me too! So, I made a three step intaglio print, altering the plate slightly each time.
But some people can’t tell where it hurts.
They can’t calm down.
They can’t ever stop howling. — Margaret Atwood (via rabbitinthemoon)
Lately it’s been hard to live in my body.
My heart is full of skeletons. My palms
are bleeding from clinging to a love like
like the sharp edge of a knife.
But you kiss me like forgiveness. You
hold me like I’m hope. Like a promise to
leave more than scars. Your arms are gauze.
Loving you heals me. — Bodily, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)
— Sylvia Plath
His hands keep turning into birds and
flying away from him. Him being you.
Yes. Do you love yourself? I don’t have to
answer that. It should matter. He has a
body but it doesn’t matter, clean sheets
on the bed but it doesn’t matter. This is
where he trots out his sadness. Little black
cloud, little black umbrella. You miss
the point: the face in the mirror is a little
traitor, the face in the mirror is a pale
and naked hostage and no one can tell
which room he’s being held in. — Richard Siken, from “Unfinished Duet” (via weissewiese)
(Source: paveo, via muscovite)
On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero - Chuck Palahniuk
(Source: hipbeatnik, via beautyofourbeings)
If a book told you something when you were fifteen, it will tell you it again when you’re fifty, though you may understand it so differently that it seems you’re reading a whole new book. — Ursula K. Le Guin (via handatthelevelofyoureye)
(Source: combeferrescannon, via beautyofourbeings)
(Source: randomscreencap, via abracadabrataboo)